


catch me, i'm falling

by Perks



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Backstory, Depressing, M/M, Sad, if it's boring i'm sorry, it will get better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perks/pseuds/Perks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU: Why Grantaire is the way he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	catch me, i'm falling

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Les Mis fanfic, so it probably isn't the best, but I appreciate every kudos and comment! (I hope I manage to keep them in character, too. If you have any suggestions on that, please don't hesitate to tell me.)

Grantaire’s eyes stung with warmth, and he moved to wipe the angry tears away, gritting his teeth and trying to focus on driving. His white knuckles gripped the steering wheel tightly, and he raced past every sign without even seeing them. This isn’t safe, his conscience chided him, and he shut his eyes for a split second, rebellious, wishing he could just disappear off the face of the earth. Before he could stop himself, his mind flashed back to approximately 53 minutes ago.

_His dad was drunk again; Grantaire could smell it on his breath, see it in his eyes, and it sickened him. This time was different, though. This time he was angry, and Grantaire had never seen him like this before. A half-empty bottle was clenched in his fist, and he didn’t even seem to notice his son in his drunken stupor. But what he did notice were the photos of Grantaire’s mother hidden in his closet._

“No, no,” Grantaire whispered, no longer entirely in the present, but in a sort of half-past, and trapped in his own memory.

_“Grantaire!” His father slurred loudly. “Get in here!” Grantaire gulped, wondering if his dad had gotten ahold of his sketchbook or paintings; but no, it was worse. Much worse. “C-coming,” he called, and hurried into his bedroom. He immediately realized what were in his father’s hands, and a cold chill ran its way down his spine. He had been feeling lonely again, so he had gotten out the old portraits of his mother. Her smiling eyes and radiant features eased the ache in his heart, one that his father seemed to try to fill with alcohol. His mother had died shortly after he was born; the doctors had told his father that she had only had enough strength to bring him into the world. This caused Grantaire’s father to believe that Grantaire had killed his wife, and he grew angry. Angry at Grantaire, but also angry at his mother for leaving him alone to take care of “the worthless brat.” And so he began to drink._

_None of this was Grantaire’s fault, of course, but living alone with only an angry, intoxicated father who believed he was worthless made him start to believe it. ‘I am guilty,’ he thought constantly. ‘It was my fault, I killed her.’ This was why he kept her photos. Grantaire’s dad had tried to get rid of them all, but Grantaire had managed to save a few from his father’s fire. They had been a secret for an extremely long period of time; if there was anything Grantaire was good at, it was hiding. But this time he had screwed up. He had been careless, and as he had learned from his father, mistakes cost you. He had forgotten to hide the photos properly, and now what had happened? His dad had found them._

“Stop,” Grantaire muttered. “Stop. Drive. Get ahold of yourself.” A single tear escaped his eye.

_“What the hell—are these your mother?” Grantaire’s dad growled. “I thought I told you that there was to be nothing left of your mother in this house, you little bastard!” Grantaire’s hands clenched into fists. “Have you been trying to keep these a secret from me, you little wretch? Huh?” His father took a step closer to him, still holding the picture frames in his hand. Grantaire was silent, willing himself not to get angry, because if he retaliated, his father would only be more upset. “Why did you even keep these? Did you think they’d bring her back?” He scoffed. “You’re even more pathetic than I thought.”_

The tears were coming more freely now; Grantaire’s vision began to blur.

_“Well, do you know what I think of that, you little shit?” You know what I think of you and your bitch mother?” And he brought the bottle down onto the first picture frame. There was a loud smashing sound, and glass fell to the floor. Grantaire was stunned for a moment, incapable of moving. Then a fire seemed to course through his veins and he lunged forward. He wanted to hurt his dad, really hurt him. He could insult and ridicule Grantaire as much as he wanted to, but he was not allowed to disgrace his mother’s memory. He wanted to wrap his fingers around his father’s throat, he wanted to watch that arrogant smirk go away. But his father tossed him aside as if he weighed nothing and threw the next frame to the floor._

Grantaire’s sobs were audible now; his shoulders shook and he had to put all of his effort into driving forward, or he was afraid that he might turn around and go back to finally give his father a piece of his mind.

_One by one, his dad broke all the frames and burned all the photos. Bit by bit, his mother’s memory faded away, and Grantaire’s hatred for his father grew. But he was helpless; he knew he couldn’t do anything against this man. So he lay among the shards of glass, pretending to be unconscious, until every last remnant of his mother was finally, as his dad had wanted it, gone. He waited until his father was satisfied, and then he grabbed his sketchbooks and left. He knew his father wouldn’t come looking for him, and he was glad. In a way, he was finally free._

Grantaire had finally gotten his emotions under control; he found the nearest bar, parked, and waited until the tear tracks had disappeared from his cheeks. Then he took a deep breath, walked inside, and, hating himself, ordered a large beer.


End file.
